cresthavenfandomcom-20200214-history
Gifts from Dreams
A glowing axehead wasn't all Jack brought home from Toy Master. It seemed the tricky little goblin snuck a small bottle of incense into Jack's things while he wasn't looking, the same bottle of incense which opened and began burning of its own accord that night. Streams of dark purple and blue smoke poured out of the small tinted capsule, snaking their way across the freehold of La Fontaine to their final destinations. It was a dark night in London. Fog was followed by rain and thunder. The new Lord Carroll strolled the familiar streets, his blade aching for the blood of the vain. All of his familiar haunts were empty, except perhaps the alley where he found his protege a few years ago. Minding the bobbies seeking shelter from the rain on a nearby stoop, Lord Carroll sought the welcoming arms of the shadows before him. He could hear the Ripper now, heart still beating, knife still fixated on claiming the lives of the filthy beautiful. The lord's interest picqued at the thought of joining the Ripper for the night. Rounding the corner, Lord Carroll's smile widened, stretching from ear to ear. He mused over his resemblance to the feline he so hated back in the other place. There in front of him was Jack, the man clad in black they called the Ripper, and his two victims for the night, tied up and on their knees. However, the two were not the usual fare, and as Alex looked them over, his mouth returned to its normal, frozen, emotionless shape. "Tis a good evening, this. Recognize the two of these, Carroll?" One man, an Austrian with grey hair, was Lord Carroll's emissary, Gabriel. The other was the lord's childhood companion, John, whom he had brought back from the Underworld. "These are distractions, Alex. You, you are an unthinking monster! A bloodthirsty killer! A cleanser of filth and sin! These, these things are making you think you're human! No matter, I'll make you the monster you made me soon enough!" Jack drew a dagger from inside of his jacket. Alex attempted to move, but an unfamiliar feeling froze him in place. Fear. Fear that harm would come to these two men. Fear that Jack was right, that redemption was forever out of his reach. The dagger Jack drew was the Vorpal Blade, Alex's own weapon. Alex's eyes darted around, trying to will himself to move or find the puppetmaster keeping him still. His eyes widened with the screams of Jack's victims as their throats were sliced open. Only after their eyes rolled back and their necks stopped bleeding could Alex move again, seizing the oppurtunity to turn his blade on his former student. Alex did not stop the movement of his dagger until Jack was mutilated beyond recognition. "That's quite enough, Alex." A man clad in an all-white suit which subtley shined light into the blood-soaked alley removed his top-hat. Alex recognized him as his uncle, Lewis. Lewis' uncharacteristic smile showed concern and kindness. "Gabriel and John are safe, as long as you remember what it means to protect them. Stay true. Take your Blade in hand." Alex examined his Blade. The sharpened side had become more jagged, although the ridges were so minute it was barely visible. An engraving of a gothic cross had placed itself on the part of the blade nearest the handle. "With this, you can protect those who need you. Your Blade now cuts spirit as well as flesh. Use it wisely." Lewis burst into smoke with his last few words, followed by the world around him. Alex was left alone, felt alone, in a blackened void, and quickly drifted back to sleep. Margarita woke up in a bed she did not recognize. There were stuffed animals all over it, and the morning sunlight was blinding through the window. She heard a woman's voice from outside the room. "Rita, honey, it's time for breakfast! Get dressed and come down here!" Margarita felt confused. She rummaged through the chest of drawers to her right, finding a t-shirt from a school unknown to her and a pair of faded jeans with rips on the knees. The texture of the clothing felt alien to her, but comfortable. She tied her hair in a long ponytail with a single rubber band while wondering where all of her scars had gone. "Rita?" "Coming mother!" Margarita heard herself say. She didn't know why she had. Opening the door, Margarita's eyes closed quickly. The light pouring in was just as bright as the sun through the window. Forcing herself to push through it, she felt her toes grip soft dirt. As her eyes opened, she realized she was somewhere in what appeared to be the Hedge. The door behind her slammed shut; the entire room violently ripping out of the ground and spinning into the sky above in a flash. Margarita called for Cynvar, her spear, which flew instantly into her hand from an unknown distance away. She still could not she her scars, and the razors in her fingers were also missing. She looked and felt human, or at least far more human than she had ever felt before. Wandering through the Thorns and briars, Margarita sought an answer or an exit, whichever would present itself to her first. Then she heard them: the sounds of paws and hooves slamming the ground. The hounds ran past her first, followed by the hunters on their demon steeds. Three of the horses slowed to a halt at her side. She remembered the riders, but they were impossible. One was valiant Cynvar, her father in Aracadia, her spear, but as she remembered him: a knight of flesh. Closer to her, in the middle of the three, was Vic the Butcher, the centurion who took her in at Cynvar's death, although he did little more than torture her. Margarita knew she had ended the Butcher's life, but here he was, alongside noble Cynvar. The rider closest to her was the most unsettling of all: it was The Head-Taker, Flesh Knight and Terror. Margarita shook her head, hoping it would dispel this impossible vision, but to no avail. "Mortal, what brings you here?" The Head-Taker addressed Margarita with scorn. "Retreat before I complete my hunt, or you shall be my next target." Margarita never knew how it felt to be on the other end of her spear, but The Head-Taker felt no qualms about aiming her spearhead at the 'human' beside her. "Why do you hesitate, Head-Taker? Either end her or bring her with us!" The Butcher was as disgustingly vile as Margarita remembered her. "Still your tongue, Butcher! Our marks for the day far outweigh some lost wanderer in this realm! Grab her; we will figure out her fate when our work is done!" Cynvar's focus did not waiver; his gaze fixed on the hounds ahead of him. At his behest, The Head-Taker scooped up Margarita and slung her over her steed's back. The three horsemen urged their steeds forward. Margarita picked herself up, adjusting her seating to ride the monster properly, drawing her spear to ready her defense. Her eyes did not break from Cynvar, even though he did not notice. The Head-Taker, the Imposter, addressed her. "What foolish errand found you here, Mortal?" The Butcher interjected himself, "Don't speak to the mongrel, idiot, lest you risk your loose lips giving her the wings by which to escape your weak grip! I doubt this sleight of a girl could last a day as one of my hounds, though I'm not above sampling her." Margarita recoiled in disgust as The Butcher licked his lips. She wasn't going to answer The Head-Taker anyway, but it didn't make The Butcher inserting his words ahead of her silence any less rude. Cynvar ignored their squabbling. "There, the hounds have picked up the trail." The other two horsemen followed Cynvar's pointed gauntlet along the road ahead. Margarita saw her chance. Swinging the blunt side of her spear, she knocked The Head-Taker into the nearby Thorns. Before The Butcher could react, Margarita speared the legs of his horse, toppling it into Cynvar's beside it. Grabbing the reins, Margarita demanded greater speed from her stolen mount, and it acquiesed. Speeding past the hounds, Margarita headed towards their hunted. Two women. Sheathing her spear and leaning backwards, Margarita used the tremendous strength in her arms to grab the two, one in each hand, picking them up onto the massive beast they now all rode. "Oh God, whatever you do to me, please, just, don't harm my daughter!" The older woman's voice echoed in Margarita's head. It was the voice from earlier. Mother, she had called her. "Still your voice, Woman. We will survive this; I promise. We just have to wait for help!" The other woman's voice was her own. A glance back shed light on the situation. It was Rita's Enforcer, the woman Margarita remembered being when she layed down her head. Margarita had found her scars; they were on this second Imposter. "Please, ma'am, my name is Elizabeth and this is my daughter..." The older woman spoke again. "Silence. I thought I would grab you to lure those fake Terrors into a trap, but I have rescinded my plan. You will not be harmed." Margarita responded with a stern tone. "We just have to wait for Remy or Rita! They'll know what to do. They will have the answers!" The Imposter spoke again. Looking back to sneer at the fake, Margarita missed the large root in the road. Her mount hit it hard, falling onto its side and sliding into a clearing ahead of them. The short gap was all the Terrors needed to catch up. The Head-Taker, astride Cynvar, hopped off her mount and drew her spear. "Kill the Mortal, Arawna. End this charade" Cynvar was as straight-forward as ever. "Please, Arawna, you have to run! Protect yourself!" Elizabeth spoke in turn. The two Imposters circled Margarita, flanking her, each with spears identical to hers. Margarita felt dizzy. Staring at the only two versions of herself she had ever known, she started to lose herself. If these two were Arawna, who was she? The Head-Taker, the Enforcer; how did Margarita fit between the two of them? One the heartless killer, the other the overly loyal serf. Which was she? "Neither." Cynvar dropped off his horse. "The answer is neither." Behind her, the soft voice of another male spoke up. "You are not the Lord or the Serf. You are whoever you chose to be." The man, garbed in a black policeman's uniform, walked towards her. Cynvar continued, nodding at the other man as an old friend. "You are not the scars, nor the burns, nor the Flesh. You are Arawna." Cynvar's flesh armor appeared to gleam with an unnatural white light. "Only you can make what that means!" The policeman spoke with his own voice, but Cynvar's tone. The two men moved to stand beside each other. "Now, show these Imposters what it means to be Arawna!" The two Imposters charged Margarita. Drawing her spear, she disarmed The Head-Taker while side-stepping a lunged from The Enforcer. Called on the Red Rage of Stone, Margarita swung her blade, snapping the handle of The Enforcer's mimiced spear in half. A lunge later, The Enforcer was lifeless, skewered by the spear in her chest. Whipping around, Margarita grabbed The Head-Taker by the neck. Letting go of her spear, Margarita snapped the Head-Taker's neck 180 degress. She stood victorious, the Contract's effects lingering. The two men smiled at her, outstretching their arms closest to one another. The two men were holding up a mask made of steel, blank except for twin slits for the eyes. They spoke, in tandem, to explain themselves. "They are not you anymore, Arawna. You are not They. This mask is a symbol of the path you will carve for yourself on your merit alone. With it, you will wear the marks of every obstacle you brush aside, every accomplishment you make. Become the spear. Become Arawna." And then everything was mist. Chaos surrounded Woods. His presence on The Battlefield had so far gone unnoticed. Dire armies charged past him to wage gory battle against gargantuan horrors. Woods felt unmoved; the gust of wind from their rush past him may have hit him, but it did not drive him to retaliate. His thoughts kept drifting to the freehold of La Fontaine, to the motley there known as the Guardians of the Bridge. He had always held them as the only ones who could be his friends, but in his heart he could feel their coldness towards him seeping in. He had murderous intent in his heart when he sought out his Fetch, but he hadn't meant to kill him the way he had. Even so, he knew it wasn't how his Fetch was killed. He was still the murderer. With so many Fetches as friends, it had put a wall between them and him. "It's too late, Jack." Lady Pendragon was there, standing a few feet to his right. Her tattered black dress matched her untamed hair. The mouth of hell erupted behind her. Foul beasts the likes of which would drive a mortal mad spewed forth from the magma-encrusted geyser. "They will never accept you. They can't. You were one of them. Then you killed their kin. You made the thin line between them and you forever distinct. What they have seen they will never unsee." "Whatever. Just leaf me alone, you gnarled old crone! Remy is still my friend, and so are the others!" Jack smiled at his own tree-related plays on words. "SILENCE!" Lady Pendragon screamed as gargoyles bleeding fire dived down from the clouds above to join the fight. Still, no one neared Jack nor Lady Pendragon. "Poor Woods," said a second voice to his left, the same distance as the Pendragon hag. It was the so-called Candy Witch, a friend of Jack's from the Hedge of Los Angeles. Clad in all white, a tear streamed from either eye, slowly trickling down her face. She sniffled, her voice pained with Sorrow. "The path you travel is a futile one. You must find another or they will never accept you." Lady Pendragon responded. "Or worse, they will exile you. The Harvest King has made as much clear!" Massive glaciers crashed into the ground behind the Candy Witch, exploding into faceless men of sharpened icicles. Dragons covered in powdered white scales circled the sky above her, breathing cold death to the combatants below. "Woods, life is a never-ending struggle against a horrible death which will never go away. If you're going to survive for another instant, you have to learn to abandon hope! There will never be an end to the fight. There will always be a bigger monster around the corner. You have to learn to thrive in the face of such futility!" An impenetrable swarm of crows now formed a dome around the three of them. Circling closer, Jack soon lost sight of his two companions. Soon, he could see nothing but a cloud of black feathers. Without warning, the crows scattered in all directions, revealing the two witches had vanished. They had been replaced by legions of monsters, now surrounding him. Looking down at The Woodsman's Axe, the axe handle now had crows carved in spirals all over it, and the point of the blade was hooked in the same shape as their beaks. Drawing the axe in hand, Jack engaged the soldiers around him, each kill coming easier than the last. Jack fought and fought, until everything seemed to fade away. It was a beautiful morning to be a teenaged girl. Lumpy woke up in her favorite tree house. She was the first to wake; her classmates Hunter, Rita, and Penny still slept. The night prior had been the best slumber party Lumpy had ever thrown, or at least that was what she had told everyone present. She knew it was true. "Lumpy, réveillez-vous! Le bus est sur le point d'arriver! (Lumpy, wake up! The bus is about to arrive!)" A wax man wearing a beautiful french suit waiting at the bottom of the tree, yelling up at her. Lumpy would have said something, but it was still three weeks until Labor Day. For now she would allow it. "Good morning, Frenchy!" Lumpy's smile could not be contained as she looked out the door of the treehouse at the man below. "Bonjour, mon ami! (Good morning, my friend!)" The man called Frenchy smiled back. "Maintenant Dépêchez! Je ne veux pas que vous manquiez le bus! (Now Hurry! I don't want you to miss the bus!)" Grabbing her friends, Lumpy hustled down the stair ladder. Frenchy, referred to by her friends as Mr. Dior, had packed lunches in paper bags covered in stickers waiting for all of them. He had made a special "supplémentaire grumeleuse (extra lumpy)" lunch for Lumpy herself, just like she liked it. Mr. Dior walked the four of them to the schoolbus, giving Lumpy a quick peck on the cheek for good luck on her arithmetic test that day as she boarded. The rest of the bus was practically empty, it was Lumpy and her three freshmen friends along with two adults at the back of the bus. Normally Lumpy would take the front row so she could talk to everyone who boarded at later stops, but the two adults at the back caught her eye. They were strangers here to her; she had riden this schoolbus for almost two school years now. Approaching them out of pure youthful curiousity, she realized she could not stop herself from moving closer. They were the two who plagued her dreams ever since she escaped Faerie. The woman, face splattered with makeup and a lit cigarette between here fingers, was wearing what was supposed to be a modern black cocktail dress, but the style had gone out of fashion over a decade ago. The man, similarly wearing black, wore a sports coat with matching button-down with no tie. A Cuban cigar sat in his mouth as if it had always been there. The man addressed her first, crossing his legs and smiling without removing his smoke. "Morning, princess! Ready to become a queen?" Lumpy felt scared. Mr. Dior had always told them to never speak to strangers, and yet she could not pull herself away. "I don't know, mister. Frenchy told me I need to take my test even though its lumping lame..." The woman chuckled. "All you need to do is be a pretty face! Just smile and let everyone else take care of you!" The door at the front of the bus ripped open, gouts of flame pouring in from outside. Dior stepped inside, hands and hair ablaze and fueled with Wrath. "You're wrong! She is a powerful young woman who can make decisions for herself!" The couple's skin turned to black smog, the only remnants of their faces their shined white teeth. Still wearing the same outfits, the couple made of smoke grabbed Lumpy and pulled her through the emergency exit behind them. The flash of light from the outside was partnered with a loud rumbling sound and the feel of hardwood floors below. When her eyes adjusted, she realized she was onstage. The sound was of the crowd cheering for her as the curtain was pulled away. The spotlight which was blinding her shifted to Mr. Dior, who now stood behind a microphone. The smog couple held onto Lumpy's arms, restraining her, although they did not appear to react to the sudden change in scenery. "These shades wish to crown you a puppet, my dear. They want you to stagnate and ignore the path ahead. Your friends need you, Lumpy. They need you at their side. You have a strong will, one of the strongest I've ever seen. It's time for you to awaken not as the puppet princess you have been, but as the benevolent princess you were meant to be!" The spotlight shifted back towards Lumpy, it's incredible radiance dissipating the shadows grabbing her. They screamed as they evaporated, horrified at not being able to hold her back any longer. Dior motioned for Lumpy to come closer as a stagehand placed a pedestal beside him. From atop the wooden box Lumpy could see all of her old friends cheering for her in the front row and an entire theater full of new friends lauding her name. "And now I crown you Princess Lumpy Space. With this tiara the very monsters who frighten you will bow down in your presence. Wear it as a symbol to remind yourself to bend this world towards kindness, friendship, and cheer." A single tear of joy ran down the princess's lumps before the theater lights went dark. Pat cursed whatever malicious force sent him to this endless desert. The helicopter taking them to their next assignment in Kuwait had been gunned down over hostile terriotory in Afghanistan. One of five survivors, Pat didn't know how long it would take for another chopper to get out this far. Nearby were the demons who had shot him down. Terrorists fighting for a regime they had no real knowledge of. Pat grabbed his gun from the wreckage, putting together a plan to raid their attackers for supplies and, hopefully, some kind of vehicle to get out of here with. After some recon, Pat realized stealth was his only option. Guiding his men closer, Pat cursed his broken radio as the bombers flew overhead. Shrapnel began exploding all around them as the allied forces made their sweeps over the enemy base. Pat mused the local pilots must be assuming there were no survivors, or perhaps they didn't care. In the ear-piercing shrieks of bombs going off, Pat's senses went numb. But there was something else there. A calling in the madness. Although he could not hear the man beside him yelling at him, there was a voice whispering his name in the wails of the explosions. "Come here, sweet soldier. Lay your head to rest..." Pat snapped out of it. He loaded his rifle and entered the base, picking off the survivors from the planes' attack. He signaled his men to launch a flare to ward off further assaults from the pilots who were already positioning themselves for another strike. Bursting into a warehouse to find any stragglers, he stopped in his tracks as he almost ran into Sergeant Reeves, another man from his platoon. His uniform was splattered with the black blood of their enemies. "Cap, these ugly rats are everywhere! Me and Fynn have had to pull them out of the rubble to finish 'em off! I had to give Fynn the rest of my ammo and use my knife to keep going!" Pat saw the cold in Reeves' eyes. It was the same look in his own. They had been trained to kill these subhumans, and they were trained well. Deciding Reeves could scrape up the rest of what was left in this building, Pat moved on. Shooting down the group around it, Pat found a stolen humvee, hotwired it, and got his men to load up. Reeves took the driver's seat and began revving the engine to signal the rest of their group. Nurse Degollar in her white medic's outfit, caught up to them. Untouched by blood, her face was instead plastered with disgust. "You all have taken things too far! These men were already down for the count when the bombs dropped, and you cut down their wounded!" The nurse had been sent to go with Pat's group at the behest of Field Marshal Dempsey. Pat wish his superior officer had reconsidered, but it was too late for that now. Pat grimaced. "This is war, nurse. We do what we must to keep our families safe." He followed it up with a grunt. He went to rechamber his rifle and found himself out of ammo. When he grabbed the last clip any of them had left, the gun jammed. In a flare of anger, Pat threw the rifle off the side of the vehicle and immediately scorned himself for doing so. "That may be true for some of the boys here, but I know for you, Cap, what you just said was an over-practiced platitude. You're not fooling me. You have to remember why you started all of this, Pat. This was about protecting people, and protecting people matters... like, a lot!" "What's it matter why we kill, 'long as they die, right?" Pat had never seen Reeves contradict Rita, but the darkness in Reeves' eyes had begun to spread to the rest of his face. Pat couldn't help but agree. Reeves nodded at his captain, climbed over the rest of the men, and reached into a weapons case which Pat could have sworn was absent a few seconds prior. "A fine captain such as yourself, you need a strong arm to wipe out whatever blocks your path. You can always rationalize why you offed 'em later, but in the meantime...." Reeves placed the weapons case in front of his captain. The branding on it was that of Cresthaven Munitions, the Admiral's favorite brand. Pat opened the case, and inside was the most beautiful gun he had ever seen. In the meantime, they wouldn't stand a chance. It was a starry night at the amphitheater. Penny had arranged everything to be perfect. Rose was to be the opener tonight, Lady Green to close. It was to be a night of beautiful music. Rose would sing, accompanied by Ophelia on piano. Then was Miranda and her viola. Lady Green had a set list of beautiful harpsichord music perfect for ballroom dancing. Penny, of course, would be in the center of the dance floor, both to show off her awe-inspiring dancing and to have the perfect view of everything happening on her stage. She would be up on stage with them if it hadn't been for Pat's insistence. It was her show, so she needed to be ready to play director. She couldn't do that if she too was performing, or at least that's what he had said. Penny introduced all the performers before letting Rose take the spotlight. Rose wore a beautiful white gown with a strap of white flowers trailing from her right shoulder to her left hip. After a few songs, Rose addressed the crowd. "Tonight we celebrate Penny, the newest Queen of Spring! All bow before her!" The crowd did as Rose told them to. "The noble flock to stand beside her, the strong seek vassalage in her kingdom. The eyes of the great and powerful see her as peer!" The crowd cheered Penny's name. The rest of the night went off without a hitch. However, Lady Green had a speech of her own. Wearing a widow's veil, Lady Green took the stage in a black pantsuit. Playing the harp as she spoke, she had a much more somber tone. "In light of Queen Rose's words, I must warn you of the knowledge she withheld from you. There is a dark side of Desire, and you'd be a fool to ignore it." The crowd danced, mesmerized by the harp's music. Penny, however, could hear Lady Green loud and clear. "While the noble will stand beside you, they will only remain if you stand strong and noble yourself. Some of the strong will come to fight for you, but others will seek to destroy all that you have built. While the great and powerful will see you as a peer, they will also see you as a threat. Heed my words, Queen Penny, or you won't live long enough to regret it." Concluding her speech, Lady Green stood from her harp, moving towards the microphone at centre stage. As she got there, Queen Rose joined her. Holding hands, they addressed their newly crowned peer. "Many will try and drag you down, Queen Penny. May only the worthy succeed. Walking together onto the dance floor below, the two of them tied a beautiful diamond necklace around Penny's neck as the stars burnt out one by one. Darkness fell over the theater, blotting out the world around them, until no one was left but Penny herself. The voyage across the sea of dreams had been long. Rita couldn't remember how long it had actually been. She felt she had been in the boat for years, and yet she could not remember anything further back than a few hours prior. The Gallowed King had done the vast majority of the rowing. "Are you, like, sure you're okay? I can totally take my shift now." Rita had good intentions, but the ephemeral world around them was in constant flux. She wondered how she didn't have a cramp in her hands from all of the note-taking she was doing. She was just glad she hadn't run out of paper in her notepad. "We're almost there now." The King had a subtle smile on his lips. As the water would crest and splash them both, neither would get wet. Not even the paint splattered all over The King would wash off. "You still haven't told me where we are going!" Rita was slightly worried. She had had her suspicions about The King in the past, but he had always been good and helpful to her. She wanted to trust him, but doubt is a stubborn and powerful thing. "Just ahead now. Trust me." At the crest of the wave in front of them, Rita could finally see where they were headed. A massive island surrounded by jagged cliffs, with a narrow bay leading between them. As they navigated the chasm, they eventually found themselves blocked by two massive gates. The first, on the left, was brown. On further inspection Rita realised it was made out of animal bone, namely horns. The other gate, on the right, was white and made of ivory from the tusks of beasts. "We have arrived, Ms. Degollar. Welcome to the Gates of Horn and Ivory. I'm afraid I cannot take you any further. You must decide which gate to enter." As The Gallowed King faded away, Rita called after him. "Wait, which gate should I use?" Only the paint remained, suspended in the air, but she could still hear his voice. "You have already chosen, child. It's just a matter of following through." With that, even the paint disappeared. Rita sat there in the boat, confused and frustrated, for around five minutes. She looked at the two gates, but they both meant nothing to her. When she decided to just try and open both of them, she realized the gates were both too large to open at the same time. As her frustration grew, the two gates opened, only slightly, of their own accord. Two angels came through, one from each gate. At least, they looked like angels from a distance. Approaching Rita, the two winged creatures made themselves known. The gatekeeper of the Gate of Horns had white wings, although she did have sporadic pitch-black feathers mixed in. The gatekeeper of the Gate of Ivory had wings entirely of black. Both wore Rita's Mask as if it were their own, although their Miens were alien to her. Horn had long black springs for hair and was largely robotic, although the dog heart at her core was still visible. She had small speakers instead of ears, and she held a dog mask in her paws. Ivory was far more monsterous. Covered in gore, heartworms protruded from Ivory's exposed heart like tendrils. Her dog's head was worn as the helm of her furred armor pieces. In concept she was more terrifying than Arawna was when Rita first met her, although few could intimidate better than The Head-Taker. Horn spoke first. "Beyond the Gate of Horns you will find the land of sweet dreams. Everyone there wants for nothing; it is the kingdom where everyone is king and reality is only your greatest desires." Ivory took her turn. "Beyond the Gate of Ivory you will find the kingdom of nightmares. Fear reigns supreme and those who enter it fall prey to those who are stronger." Rita felt the decision was an easy one. "Well..... I'm going the nice Horn place where everything is happy endings. Thanks guys, good bye!" As Rita reached for the oars, however, they both outstretched their hands and yelled "NO!" Speaking simultaneously, they stopped her. "You don't understand. You cannot choose either. You must choose both. Sweet dreams are meaningless without nightmares, and fear loses its sting without happiness to contrast it. With the goals you hold dear to your heart, you have to remember: both of these worlds, these realities, are necessary evils. Embody both, and nothing can stand in your way." Grasping her arms, they carried her aloft, and began lifting her over the gates in front of her. There, she could see the rest of the island, a massive plain with the villa of La Fontaine at its center. All of her subjects waved at her from below. Rita mused at how awesome this all felt, and then her carriers let go of her. Trying to grab ahold of the two gatekeepers to keep from falling, she instead pulled out a feather from each of them. Category:Fiction